Love and Loss
by LisaAbiona15
Summary: Some one-shots about my favourite characters. Pairings; Meg/Spook, Lamia/ Tom's dad. Perhaps other's later. Warning; some are very fluffy. Don't read if you don't like fluffy stuff.
1. Everything

**Well, hello everyone. I will start this story by clarifying I don't own the Wardstone Chronicles. Joseph Delaney does. Also, I would like to inform you ( very formal talk, yeah:P) that I probably won't post a new chapter of these one-shots everyday, since I have other stories to work on. Right now, I have about four stories that are all one-shots about different book series. I mainly use one-shots for inspiration. Somehow, writing one-shots makes me very inspired, which helps me with the two actual stories ( not just one-shots) I am writing currently. Anyway, my point is that I won't update this every day. Hope you enjoy this!**

John smiled while he studied her. Studied her blonde hair, milky skin and smile. Studied her expression, behavior and the way she walked around the garden.

She waved at him and he kept smiling, even when his gaze fell on her pointy shoes and he was once reminded of what exactly he was keeping in his house. A lamia witch. An enemy, or supposed enemy of him. A dangerous creature that wouldn't hesiate to kill when it was needed. _B_

_ut I can't let her go. I love her too much for that. And she hasn't harmed anyone since I took her in _he though while strudying her.

She was gathering herbs for one of her potions. John didn't like it , to say the least, but he hadn't been able to convince her to stop practising magic and live like a regular person. She refused to stop using magic and making potions. It was a part of her. And it had been the fundation for a lot of debates the past weeks. Past weeks that were filled with happiness, but also with small arguments and reminders of their differences.

They had such different standards, ideas and morals after all. Meg was a lamia witch, not even human. She would kill an innocent being if it was necessary for some reason and feel no guilt about it. John would kill if it was inevitable, but feel immense guilt about it. Meg would use magic. John would never, not even to save his own life. John fought for humans, even when they didn't like him and he didn't like them. Meg fought against humans, sometimes even when she liked them and they liked her.

There were so many differences between them , so many things that concerned John. But whenever he looked into her eyes and she smiled at him, he forgot everything except her. He forgot his duties, his responsebilities, the differences between him and the danger of living with her. He would sacrifice anything to be with her, he knew.

It frightened him. He had never felt like this before. He had never felt these strong feelings before. But what frightened him most, was that he had lost all control. He could no longer say he would do anything for the county; he wouldn't be willing to sacrifice her, he feared. She was was more important than anything now. He had lost control of his life and could no longer keep all his promises. Like his promise to fight the dark. She was part of the dark, even when they both acted like she wasn't.

He almost wished he could stop loving her, which would solve so many problems, but he couldn't. He could never stop loving her, he knew. It was impossible. He loved her more than anything, more than his own life and soul. How could he stop a feeling so strong and overwhelming?

He knew he had done something wrong; that there was a chance it would have been better to throw her in a pit, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it. And he still wouldn't.

He would rather jump into the pit himself than put her in it. He couldn't live without her anymore. He needed her. He needed her company. It made his life and job so much easier. It made him happy and carefree. It made him smile like he hadn't in a really long time. He simply couldn't do without her anymore. She was as significant as oxygen now.

His parents, friends and master had always tried to keep him save, to learn him what was really dangerous so he could stay away from it or knew when and how to fight it, but they hadn't anticipated one thing.

They hadn't anticipated he would be the danger. Because he was. He wasn't strong enough to stop this relationship, this relationship that had a big possebility of ending in misery, of ending with tragedy and heartbreak. A relationship that was prohibited, that was unholy.

John knew all of it. He knew this might be the most dangerous thing he could ever do in his life. He knew Meg was more dangerous than everyone else. Not because she was a lamia witch. Not because she could use dark magic against him. Not because she was strong enough to snap a tree in half. No, but because he was in love with her. She could hurt him more than anyone else and all she had to do in order to cause him the greatest misery of his life, was leave him.

John knew it. John knew the danger and the risks he was taking. But she smiled at him and he couldn't bring himself to care. Because he had her. And he knew that she was worth any risk, any pain and any danger that existed. She was worth anything. Because she was everything to him.

Meg waved at him and beckoned him forward and he immediately stood and walked towards her. Her basket was filled with different herbs, which would be used to make potions. Potions that could either heal or kill. Destroy or create. Herbs that were like her; they could be used for both. They could be used for evil and good. She could use her talents and powers for evil and good. It was a choose above everything. She could choose her fate and place. The light or the dark.

She smiled at him, her eyes filled with misschief. " Where are you thinking about John? You look conflicted".

John smiled at her, enjoying the sound of her voice. Of all the beauty she possessed, all the talents she had, he loved her voice the most. It was enchanting. More beautiful than anything he had ever heard.

He smiled back at her, determined to enjoy every fleeting second he got to spend with her. " I was just thinking. Thinking about us, about the past weeks. About this whole situation".

Meg bit her lip and looked down. " Do you want me to leave?" she whispered. He could hear the hurt in her voice. She obviously feared he would say yes. But he never would. He couldn't.

He lifted her chin, smiling. " Of course not. I want you to stay. I just worry sometimes Meg, but I will be all right. _We _will be all right".

Meg smiled at him and kissed him, her kisses sweet as always. " Great. And now help me carry these back to the house. I need to add them to my potion or dry them".

John carried the basket and they walked towards the house. " Where do you need them for? What are you making?" he asked.

She smiled at him. " Just a potion. You will see".

She looked more beautiful than ever, now the sun was shining. It made her hair glow golden. She looked like a goddess. John looked at her and he knew; she was worth all the trouble she would give. Because she would give even more happiness to him.


	2. Is it worth it?

**I don't own the Wardstone chronicles, Joseph Delaney does.**

**This used to be just about Meg/The spook, but I got a nice idea and decided I was too lazy to start a new story for it and it would be more fun to write one-shots about various characters anyway.**

**Oh and I don't have a good title yet ( the current title is temporary), so I would love to hear suggestions. This chapter will be Lamia/ John Ward. Enjoy!**

It was a night unlike any other; some might even say magical. Everything that night somehow seemed different, as if something was amiss and had influenced everything around them.

The silvery-blue moon illuminated the sea that lay beneath it, bringing light to the darkness of the waves. The sea itself was gentle and calm this night and only gentle waves that belied the danger beneath them were to be seen.

Beneath the surface, the tranquillity and peace gave away to a world filled with live and death, with prey and predators. Sharks, sirens and other predators chased varieties of fish and everything else that they could catch. Especially the sirens were fast; they shot through the water like lightning bolts, their mouths open so you could see the saliva dripping of their huge fangs and the desperately hungry look in their eyes.

Everything was quiet, eerily so, and everything alive seem to hold their breath, as if breathing would start something even the strongest predators were Something big was happening, that much was sure.

The woman standing on the deck of the ship that was drifting on the waves seemed to notice neither the tense atmosphere nor the predators luring near the ship, their eyes glinting maliciously when they took note of the warm blood running through youthful, strong male bodies.

The woman was absolutely breath-taking; such was her beauty that she could rival with any other woman and even the rarest jewels looked slightly plain in comparism to her beauty. Which wasn't surprising. This, after all, was a woman that had once been the lover of the King of Gods. This a woman of legends, of a tale of love, treachery and tragedy. This was Lamia.

She was one of the most lethal and feared creatures of her homeland Greece, a great sorceress and millennia old. And she was also the fiancé of a human, of one of the kind she normally only saw as food.

She sighed deeply when she looked at Greece, her Greece that vastly disappeared. Her expression was both slightly wistful and sad. This was not just the lover of the king, the great sorceress or the eternal beauty, but also a woman whose heart was torn.

_Is it worth it? Is it worth it to surrender to mortality, to cease what I have been doing for such a long time I rarely remember what happened before? Is it really worth it , to leave the only things in life I held dear, to live with puny mortals that are my prey but I cannot hunt. Is it worth it? _

_I will likely never see my sisters again, I will never taste the warm blood of a foolish male, I will never know true power. I will only live as a shadow as my real self, as an ordinary wife of an ordinary farmer. _

_Is it worth to live with the stench of the farmyard forever in my nostrils and share my bed with an ordinary man just to destroy my enemy? _

Lamia sighed again, looking at Greece and trying very hard not to be tempted by it, not to change form and fly towards it. It was a lot harder than she had previously anticipated. She had had not the slighest idea that her heart would yearn for everything she had had for ages so much. She had had no idea she even had something of a heart left. She had believed every piece of her head, of any emotions had been destroyed all that time ago when _they _had been murdered. All this time, she had never had felt like she had a heart.

_And yet.. I feel emotions for what feels like the first time in forever. I might actually care for the prey, for him that saved my life. But I wonder.. what did I have to live for? _

A strong, warm and big hand someone lay on her shoulder interrupted her thoughts. She didn't give any indication he had startled her, or that she was tempted to push his hands away. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this close to a man and not been drinking his blood.

She didn't turn and face him, but she knew he was smiling. He had been non-stop from the moment she had told him her decision and she didn't think he would stop soon.

He put another step towards her and embraced her. His scent enveloped her; just the hint of sweat, soap, his own unique scent- spicy with a salty background- and his blood, thrumming in his veins. Surprisingly, she found herself allowing him the embrace, the proximity. She hadn't allowed a man close to her in ages, not like this. Not since _him. _

He smiled again and inhaled deeply. He seemed content, happy, unaware of her dark thoughts and feelings. Unaware of _her_, of who she really was.

She sighed softly again and he placed a soft, loving kiss on her bare shoulder. He didn't say anything, but offered her comfort and safety, love and admiration, a home and a new life without ever saying any words at all.

They stayed in that embrace and watched Greece disappear from their sight. They watched it fading away slowly to nothing, until only the vast sea remained.

And again, with the arms of her future husband bee around her but her mind and heart somewhere else, Lamia found herself thinking is it worth it? The words, the doubt, would haunt her in her new life.

* * *

Is it worth it?

Lamia sighed as she looked at what she was supposed to call home. As she looked at the stables, dirty and soon to be filled with pigs and the like, as she looked at the adjourning house, smaller than she was used to and no doubt also less luxurious, and even as she looked up at the sky and noticed it was starting to rain again. Everything here was so different from where she had belonged. She doubted she would ever get acquainted with this new life.

She walked over to the man and he smiled at her, a smile full of the love she knew he felt for her. She almost laughed, bitterly, at the thought.

_Love. I once felt it and what good did it to me? As much good as it will do to you, I imagine. _

She managed a small smile at the man and walked towards her, slightly annoyed when he kissed her cheek and wrapped one arm around her. He seemed to be awfully affectionate, something she wasn't particularly happy with.

They bought the farm, he talking enthusiastically about all they could do and she remaining silent and smiling a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. He never noticed just how unhappy she was, how doubtful.

He walked away to look at the stables for a moment and she watched the scene around her; the farmhouse, the stables and the hills where she could feel remnants of soldier souls. And again, she asked herself ; Is it worth it?

* * *

Is it worth it?

Lamia sat back, her entire body tense as the two girls worked on her hair. It took every ounce of her self-control to not lunge at them, to sink her teeth in their necks and drink their blood. Not only where they touching her – something she didn't want humans to do-, but they were also ordering her , talking non-stop and basically annoying her.

Even if they weren't men, whose blood she normally preferred, their blood still made her mouth water a bit. She was hungry, tired and annoyed and those girls kept chatting. She might not require blood to live, but she sure was tempted to drink theirs.

She closed her eyes and envisioned her sisters and her hunting together, flying faster and faster until landing upon a scared human and drinking its warm, delightful, tangy blood. She envisioned herself sitting at home, laughing and talking with her sisters, when one of the girls combed her hair. She envisioned one of the thousands of men she had killed looking at her with awe and wonder when the other pulled it back. And she imagined slowly and most painfully destroying the Fiend when they pulled at the same time, hard. It was the only way she could completely control herself.

She snapped her eyes opening when she realized her hair was up and this exposed a bit of her back. She expected screams, the smell of fear and sound of feet running away from her. But she never heard them.

Without a word, she pushed herself up and turned to look at her back in the mirror. She gasped silently when she saw it. Or actually didn't see it.

Where before had been yellow and green scales, was now soft and perfect skin. She no longer even had her scales as remember of what had been.

Lamia lightly touched the place where once scales had been, running her fingers down and only truly believing they were gone when she couldn't feel anything but soft skin. And even then, she hardly believed.

How could she believe something she had had for millennia was gone?

She sighed and looked at her own eyes, filled with a mix of wonder and the doubt that was always present. And again, she thought ; is it worth it?

* * *

Is it worth it?

Her legs were filled with lead, her stomach with acid, her throat with thick syrup. She couldn't walk properly, couldn't breathe properly, couldn't do anything as her body betrayed and for the first time in a very long time, she felt something similar to nervousness.

Not the nervousness she had felt when she shared her first kiss, nor the nervousness she had felt when she dared to mention love, and not even the nervousness she was supposed to feel. But nervousness still.

She attempted to swallow, to regulate her breathing and to move faster, but she barely could. It felt like someone had cursed her, cursed her so her body wasn't listening to her. But she knew no one had.

With every step that she forced herself to take towards him, she felt the feeling she had labelled as nervousness grow. It wasn't the church that made her nervous; she could enter churches and had never felt intimidated with them even if they were the house of God. It wasn't the crowd either; there were little people present and even if there had been many, none could intimidate her.

No, it was the fact she was actually doing this, doing something that went against her nature. She wasn't _supposed _to do this, didn't want it. But she did want to destroy _him _and only would if she did this, she tried to remind herself as she took the last steps and met his awestruck, lovesick look.

It didn't make her feel better, only made it feel more real. She was going to marry a ordinary man, a man that loved her, just to destroy something else.

She smiled a hint of a smile when he kissed her hand. She showed no emotion at all when they took their vows. She felt a tinge of passion when they kissed. And she felt herself thinking it again late that night, when she lay in his arms and the short moment of satisfaction and content was gone,; is it worth it?

* * *

Is it worth it?

She had forgotten how much this hurt.

Not the feeling of ice-cold fingers freezing and breaking bones to reach her heart and tore it from her chest, like when they had died. More the feeling of being electrocuted while tiny stakes penetrating her thighs, like when they had been born.

Lamia gasped, gripping her husband's hand besides herself when the next wave of pain hit her. She didn't scream, didn't curse, didn't even raise her voice. She just gasped and hold on to him.

Her eyes shut a little while the wave of pain hit her, again and again until she fell on her back, gasping for breath. She would have a little time before the next wave, she knew, and used that time to recover a little. He stroked her hand softly, his eyes filled with concern and love but she ignored him. She had to focus.

She was ready for the next wave of pain, her brow furrowed and her eyes filled with determination. She couldn't thwart this enemy, couldn't keep the pain at bay, but she wouldn't scream. She wouldn't allow herself to show any sign of pain.

The next wave hit and she gasped softly again, gripping his hand a little tighter. For once, the love and admiration in his eyes wasn't just foolish, it was also very, very welcome. It eased the pain a little that she had him, that she had his hand to crush.

The next wave hit before she had recovered enough to tell him, but he squeezed her hand in an assuring gesture. He had noticed the way her expression had shifted, that the mask had given away a little. He knew.

Low tide gave away to high tide; the waves of pain returned, each more forcefully than the previous. She gasped louder, even groaned once, but didn't show any other sign of the pain she was in.

Eventually, she had to push. She pushed and pushed and he squeezed her hand every time she did. She managed to gather enough strength to squeeze back every time.

Finally, when she felt exhausted, sore and sweaty, something came out and fell in the arms of the midwife. It immediately started wailing, like Lamia knew it should.

She looked at him and felt the weirdest sensation when she saw him. His eyes seemed to glow, to burst with joy, pride and love. His mouth was stretched in a grin so wide it might actually hurt. He radiated joy.

He ran to the midwife and, tenderly, took it from her. He cradled it in his arms, kissed its head and , like magic, the little thing stopped crying.

He walked towards her and lay it in her arms, sitting next to her once again and smiling lovingly at the both of them. Again, she didn't mind him loving her. It made her even feel a little bit happy.

She looked down at it and for a moment, she felt pain again. It reminded of things she longed to forget, things that made her heart ache before her sorrow turned into anger.

But then, it gave her something similar to a smile. The pain, anger and sorrow disappeared when she really looked at it and she slowly fell a little better.

It wasn't beautiful in any way, wasn't strong as well, or remarkable in any way, but it was hers. And this time she wouldn't let it take it.

And yet, even when she felt a little like that person she had been back then , she couldn't help but ask the question again as it fell asleep in her arm and she was once reminded of the last time she had held one and the pain this had led to ; is it worth it?

* * *

Is it worth it?

She just stood like that for a long time; with the black locks in her fingers, holding them to the light to see the grey hidden between them. She studied them, prodded them, but didn't know what to think of them.

She had thought about this, about the consequences of that choice made long ago. She had thought about them, accepted them, but she had never truly understood them.

She had never understood what exactly losing her immortality would mean. What it would do to her appearance and abilities. How it would alter her, how it would make certain things difficult. And now, she knew.

She sighed when she looked at herself, reminiscing how much had changed these past decades. She wasn't sure she liked all the changes though. And she wasn't sure she liked this change.

She sank down in the chair before her vanity, holding her head and looking at herself in the mirror. That was how he found her some time later.

He shook his head and smiled when he saw his wife study her hair quite intensely. She had never been one to care about her appearance, but even she seemed affected by something most women despised.

He walked towards her and kneeled, laying on of his hands on her knees. He sat next to her while she examined her hair with a puzzled expression on her face. Finally, she sighed and got up.

He immediately got up as well and embraced her, resting his chin on her shoulder and smiling at her in the mirror.

She smiled back, grateful for the love he still held for her, and turned in his arms. She inhaled his scent, the scent she had grown to love like the rest of him, and pressed her lips to his. The kiss slowly made her forget the question she had asked once again; is it worth it?

* * *

She closed her eyes and concentrated, concentrated hard and deep until she felt it- her magic- envelop her, cover her. She didn't need spells, a wand or any other equipment, just deep concentration.

She slowly felt it beginning to work; first, a tingling sensation that wasn't all unpleasant, then the tingling felt more like little needles entering her sensitive skin, next was the feeling of bones breaking and re-arranging themselves. It hurt her so much, but she could take the pain. She had had so much pain, that this was small in comparism.

Her mind was the next to alter, together with her feelings; she felt herself distance from the person she had been, felt her life with John become more and more like a happy dream than reality with every small step she took towards her new form.

She knew she had only little time left before she once took a new form and ceased to be that woman she had been for decades. So she asked herself the question one last time, while her skin was torn by wings appearing, while her bones were changed, while pain was everywhere. Is it worth it?

And this time she answered. Answered now she still could answer, now she still was that woman. Yes, yes it has been definitely worth it. Because it had been love.

**Well I hope you liked it. My idea was that Lamia was insensitive and slightly annoyed by John at the beginning of their relationship, then started to care for him and eventually loved him. I hope I managed to put that in my story and it explains why she sometimes seems so cold towards him. **

**And I imagined she would have her doubts about marrying him and everything, so that is what is it worth it refers to; whether destroying the Fiend was worth having to leave Greece, marry John, bear his children etcetera. I thought that was pretty obvious, but just to make all clear. **


	3. Like Romeo and Juliet

**Disclaimer; I don't own the Wardstone Chronicles, sadly. So please don't sue me. It won't do much good for either of us. **

**Author's note; For people who read some of my other stories and are waiting for me to post the last chapter of Lost ( I doubt you people read this story, but you never know); I am actually working on it, but I have been suffering from writer's block, so I am not yet finished. It will be a really long chapter ( it is currently 21000 words and it is still not finished, probably another 5000 + words will be added) so I hope that will make up for it. I will continue writing it, but I will also be busy writing one-shots, because that might stop another massive writer's block ( I actually wanted to finish Lost, then continue writing one-shots, but it's no use. One-shots –other ones than Lost, which is actually a three-shot, now I think about it- are begging to be written and I can no longer ignore their pleas. I am not that heartless)**

**Two things about this one-shot. One; I don't have the book that contains the scene this is based on ( well, I have it, but it's Lost, which happens when you have a lot of books in many places) , so the things they are saying might be off. Probably are very different, because my memory isn't that great. **

**And two; I will likely change this later. It was just something I suddenly came up with and decided to write to (hopefully) kill my writer's block. So I haven't really re-read it and everything. Which means it won't be that great. But at least I have written something again!**

Sensations. A warm, soft body against his. The smell of dried sweat, something heady and a uniquely feminine scent he never wanted to do without ever again. A faint tingling at his temple where long, beautiful strands of hair touched his face. Sunlight touching his face, the warmth pleasant and comforting.

He basked in the combination of sensations, of warmth, comfort and content. He snuggled a little closer, seeking out her warmth more to prove this was real than because he longed for a little warmth, and buried his face in her hair. He heard her sigh softly and inhaled deeply, loving how her hair smelled, how _she _smelled. He didn't think he would ever get enough of that.

He had done many things, had tried many things , and some had been very good, had made him convinced that you could find a little heaven while you were still alive too. But nothing , not alcohol, not friends, not adventures, not church when he had still believed, nothing had ever felt so _right. _

Nothing had ever felt better than her lithe form against him, in his arms like she belonged there. Nothing had ever felt better than the very faint sound of her breathing. Nothing had ever felt better than the night before, except the morning he was now enjoying.

So it was no miracle that he was extremely disappointed when she gently turned in his arms , kissed him on his nose and gently pushed away his arms, so she could escape his embrace. He had yet to open his eyes.

He didn't want to, didn't want to wake up, didn't want to return to duties and responsibilities and the harsh truth of _what _he was and what his life was like.

He wanted to lay in the bed with her in his arms, wanted to enjoy a lazy sunny morning in bed with her and talk about the next time they could do something like this. But she had already escaped, had already left his embrace and was now attempting to find her clothes and put them back on. Or that was what he assumed, since he had yet to open his eyes.

Sighing, he slowly opened them. Very slowly and carefully, mindful of the sun that was shining directly into his eyes and had the ability to blind him. He finally opened his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to wake up properly and actually see something.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, not caring that the blanket was no longer covering him properly – it wasn't like it really mattered or that she hadn't seen him without the blanket- and looked around the room.

The first thing he noticed was that there was very few things; the bed, a mirror, a small bowl of water- presumably so she could wash herself- , dust that covered the entire room and some straw.

Then he saw her and for a moment, he was awestruck.

Perhaps because his everyday life was so ugly, perhaps it was because he had seen so much horror, so much ugliness and fear, but he didn't think he had ever seen anything- and definitely not anyone- more beautiful than she was at that moment, nor did he think he would ever see anything or anyone more beautiful.

She was standing in the shadow, but a few sun rays managed to reach out and touch her pale, flawless skin. Her hair looked golden with the few sun rays touching it, her skin a striking silvery white that somehow went beautiful with the gold of her hair. He smiled while he studied her. She was standing with her back to him, so she wouldn't notice anyway.

His eyes lazily followed a path, from her golden hair that he desperately wanted to touch, to the line of her beautiful neck – pale and perfect- , to her bare shoulders- the desire to touch her intensified to the point he had to swallow and grit his teeth to not reach out and kiss her, touch her, inhale her- , to the graceful line of her back, the flash of green and yellow barely visible…

He sat up suddenly, his heart hammering against his chest, his throat dry like sandpaper, when he suddenly noticed the yellow and green on her spine. He had certainly not noticed _that _before. Had he even seen it right?

Praying fervently he was wrong- even though he knew it wouldn't help and if God existed he would certainly not help such an disloyal servant and sinner as he had been – he leaned forward and squinted his eyes. S

he still hadn't noticed him and was humming softly while she worked on her dress, worked to fasten the buttons, the buttons that looked remarkably like human bones….

He swallowed and leaned forward even more. He didn't even want to think about the possibility of her dress having buttons made of human bones.

She hummed a little louder and for a moment, he was distracted. Her voice was just as appealing, just as striking and hypnotizing as her appearance; soft, powerful and seductive, smooth when she sang and something he knew he wouldn't mind listening to for the rest of his life.

For a moment he closed his eyes, for a moment he considered not looking, just ignoring what might be hidden among flawless skin. But he couldn't. He had never been a coward and he certainly wouldn't be one now.

So he opened his eyes and looked, really looked. And regretted it.

His breathing stopped, his heart started beating even harder ( if that was even possible) and he felt nauseous suddenly, bile rising. He gritted his teeth and balled his fists.

He didn't even know what he felt, whether it was anger, bitterness or sadness, but he did know what he had done, how horribly he had failed.

" Witch!" he yelled, growled almost.

She immediately turned, her eyes widening, and clutched her chest. His determination almost vanished at the helpless, sad expression on that beautiful face, but he pushed away his guilt for startling, for hurting her and continued on the rage, on the despise he ought to feel but did not completely feel.

" Witch!" he growled again. He had never felt this betrayed, this pained and hurt and angry before.

She stepped back, not exactly fearful but weary and raised her hands, almost like she was preaching.

" I harm nobody! Only those who wish _me _harm" she said, a hint of pleading to her tone. Her eyes , those beautiful eyes that had captured him just as much as the rest of her, pleaded and begged him not to do what she knew he was supposed to it.

Despite the pain in his chest, the wish to gather her in his arms and forget all about duties and responsibilities, he strengthened his resolve and spat " It is in your nature to deceive! Your kind isn't even human!".

She pursed her lips and balled her fists and he wasn't sure if what he saw in her eyes was anger or bitterness. He wasn't about to find out either, knowing all too well her kind was exceptionally strong and she might be able to overpower him if he hesitated. He wouldn't fail again.

He grabbed blindly for the silver chain that had held her captive and threw it at her, before she even had the chance to retort.

She landed on the floor with a small thud, a sharp hiss the only sound of pain she permitted herself to make.

He left the bed and walked towards his clothes, trying to ignore her agony-filled eyes that followed him and burned into his back.

Her pain and anger was almost palpable and he couldn't look at her, not without losing the battle in him and freeing her. He knew he wouldn't be able to fulfill his duty if he looked at her, if he saw her beauty that made it nearly impossible for him to believe what she really was.

He found it so hard to believe something so beautiful and angel-like could be something so dark and feral.

He quickly gathered his clothes, put them on and gathered the rest of his stuff before he grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, unconsciously trying to hurt her as little as possible.

He walked as quickly as possible, almost ran. He didn't think he would have walked harder if the Devil himself had been following him, nor did he think there was anything more painful than what was about to do. He would not just break his own heart, he would destroy it forever, it would never be mended again. But it had to be done.

It was his duty, it would have been his destiny if he had believed in it.

* * *

Later, he sat in the chair and watched her. Watched her chest rise and fall with every breath that passed those pale and perfect lips. Watched her gentle smile, any signs of tears or sadness long gone. Watched when she sighed contently and shifted in her sleep.

He simply watched, watched every piece of her except that one part of her he simply _couldn't _watch; her spine. He didn't want to see those yellow and green scales. Didn't want to be reminded of what he was looking at. He didn't want to face the harsh, painful reality. He just wanted to watch her and pretend they were an ordinary couple in love, a couple destined to grow old together.

But as he sat there, watching here, watching her beauty and loveliness, he couldn't help think of his master; of the dead, glassy eyes staring at him, almost accusingly. Like his master even watched and berated him in death. Like he was saying; you're a failure. You're not supposed to be with her. She is your enemy.

Over and over again, he heard his master's voice and it really drove him crazy with guilt.

But then again, what could he have done? He simply couldn't bind her, couldn't condemn her to a life in the most miserable kind of prison simply because she had been born the way she was.

He was in love with her , after all.

He might not know Shakespeare, but he did know Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. After all, that was _his _story. _They _were Romeo and Juliet. They were the most tragic love story yet, an impossible love between enemies.

After all, they weren't supposed to be, were they?


	4. Moments

**Disclaimer; I don't own the Wardstone Chronicles. **

**Author's note; I hope y'all like this! I might edit it later, I am not sure yet. I probably will, because some pieces had to be written very quickly ( I do need some sleep people, so I have bedtimes) and that might need editing. I'll see. **

**And it might be difficult to figure out when in the books/life of the spook this happens, but it all are moments from the The Spook's stories, witches; Meg Skelton. I hope it isn't too difficult to discover which moment is which. **

**Oh and there isn't much about young John/ Young Meg in the books, so I had to improvise a little with how they acted around each other and everything. I personally thought John would be strong-willed and resist when Meg would want something he didn't agree with ( hence the many arguments), but would give in because he cared so much. And I envisioned Meg not having a high opinion of humans ( since she was fully aware of what she was back then, so she probably was very different – it actually says so at the end , The Spook says at the end that she seemed like a stranger to him at times when drugged- when drugged) and sometimes being manipulative/harsh. But she also sincerely loves/cares for the Spook. I think. **

**Enjoy! **

From all the battles he had fought, from all the incredibly difficult decisions he had had to make, from all the horrible, painful things he had seen and experienced, this was by far the worst.

Before, he hadn't that much problems , because he knew he fought the dark, because he knew it had to be done to protect the innocent. He could deal with the threats, the fights, the killing or binding of various servants of the dark.

He could even –although that was very difficult in the beginning- deal with the contempt, the mixed fear and hate, the glances, the glares.

He could live with the loneliness, with the knowledge the dark despised him and the ordinary people feared and despised him.

What he didn't think to be able to live with, though, was this.

Pulling her on her long, beautiful hair through the grass, hurting her but not as much as the idea of her in that pit forever was hurting him.

He strengthened his resolve, attempting to think of her as just another creature of the dark, another vile inhuman creature that would no doubt hurt many people if she was allowed to dwell in the world freely.

But he couldn't. Not when all he saw, was their night together.

Her lips, softer than he would have deemed possible, so perfect on his. Her hair tickling his face and the sides of his neck, a surprisingly pleasant sensation. Her body pressed against his, a perfect fit. The soft sounds she made. Her willingness to be with him, something he didn't encounter anymore.

He had never experienced anything like it, anything that was so blissful, that felt so right. He wouldn't trade his soul for power, for immortality, for money or for anything else the Devil could think of, but he would sell his soul for another moment like that.

He gritted his teeth. His willingness, desperately so, to do anything for another moment like that only showed him how much she had bewitched him already.

It made him angry, knowing she had such power and wasn't above using it on him. It made him bitter, thinking that moment had only happened because she wanted to hold power over him. It made him sad, the knowledge that he would never have a moment like that ever again.

He pulled a little harder, his anger making some of his pity and sympathy for her dissolve. He immediately regretted the action when a hiss of pain passed her lips. And cursed himself.

For hurting her, but even more for being so oblivious and gullible, for allowing himself to feel pity and sympathy towards an obviously manipulative and cold creature.

Finally, they reached the pit and he turned, determined to finish this once and for all.

He made the mistake of looking into her eyes, wide, angry yet frightened eyes that pleaded with him, that coaxed him into releasing her. He averted his eyes, knowing he wouldn't be able to finish it if he didn't, but that turned out to be a mistake too. Because it allowed him to see the many scratches on the part of her arms and legs _he _had made.

He swallowed, disgusted with himself. He never thought he would stoop this low, that he would actually harm a woman. The thought made his mind reel, made him feel like someone had slapped him _and _thrown cold water in his face.

He had had never thought of _them _– he couldn't even say Lamia witch anymore- as women. He had always thought of them as beasts, as monsters, as utterly inhuman. Certainly not as women.

Women were soft, intelligent and kind in his mind, not incredibly strong, powerful and able to curse like real seamen.

Yet she didn't look like one of _them. _

She looked every inch a woman, every inch a warm-blooded woman that deserved his respect. That didn't deserve or should be dragged along, that shouldn't have her perfect skin cut open by brambles nor should that long, stunning hair be used as leverage. She looked so _human _that he couldn't but feel revolted and embarrassed by what he had done to her.

His eyes trailed lower, following that scratches that adorned her further flawless skin and the sympathy and pity in the back of his eyes vanished when he saw the scales again. It was a cruel remainder of her deceit, of how she would _never _be human no matter how human-like she looked.

He focused on the anger the thought of her deceit- because that is what he was sure it was- evoked and managed to swallow back the pity and sympathy. The anger would enable him to actually do his job, the pity and sympathy would only make his life _very _complicated.

He was just about to push her over the edge when it happened; she sunk to her knees, clung to his and _sobbed. _Desperately. Pitying. Nothing any man could just ignore.

She isn't human, she isn't human, she isn't human he chanted in his mind, but it mattered not. It didn't matter that she was a witch , that she likely had harmed many humans and that it was his duty to push her into that pit. Right now, she was just a sorrowful woman. And he wasn't cruel nor heartless.

" Please!" she cried. " Spare me. I can't live like that- not trapped down there in the dark!".

He felt like crying himself, so strong was the need to protect her- to protect her from his _own _kind. Her tears were like sharp needles to him; with every tear that escaped her beautiful, expressive eyes, he felt like someone had stabbed a needle in his heart. Had it been any other situation, he would have suspected someone was using witchcraft on him to make him feel that way.

" You're a witch and that is where you belong" he told her, barely managing to get the words out and surprised his voice didn't waver.

" Be grateful you're not suffering a worse fate-".

" Oh please, please, John, think again. Can I help it that I was born a witch? Despite that, I never hurt others unless they threaten me. Remember what we said to each other last night? How we felt? Nothing's changed. Nothing's changed at all. Please put your arms around me again and forget this foolishness".

Had she been any other lamia witch, then he would have thrown her into the pit without hesitance, never doubting she was evil and belonged there. It was what he had to do, it was what he was _paid _to do. But he couldn't.

Not when tears was still silently streaming over her face, not when she looked so pleadingly at him, not when she looked so human and _honest. _

True, he knew what was expected of him, what he would have expected himself of any man in this position, but his heart didn't seem to be interested in that. No matter how much he knew what to do intelligently, he couldn't just make that decision. Not when he already loved her.

Besides, she had given some very good reasons. Logical, valid reasons. She was right ; she hadn't asked to be born a witch. He hadn't asked to be born a spook either – although some would say it had been his own decision- , he hadn't necessarily wanted this life either. No one wanted or deserved to life of either witch or spook.

Would it be really fair to throw her into a pit just because she had been born something she didn't want to be? What kind of man would that make him? Wouldn't that make _him _the monster?

He just stood there, still as a statue, while he thought it through. He thought and thought and thought until his head hurt, but he knew, deep inside, his decision had already been made. Consequences be damned, he couldn't punish the woman he loved for something she wasn't responsible for. For just being born.

So he did the only thing he know he as _man in love _could do; he kneeled down, freed his tears and begged for her forgiveness. After all, she was more valuable than his soul to him, so she was certainly more valuable than his job, wasn't she?

* * *

"Meg, love, please listen to me! I simply request you stay here, so you-"

" I don't care for your explanation! I _know _why you want me to stay, but I am not some silly housewife John. I am perfectly able to get some damn groceries!".

" Meg! Such language..".

" Is unflattering and unbecoming for a lady. I know. Good thing I'm not a lady then, isn't it?".

" Don't be like that. You are a lady. A very beautiful one".

" Is that all I am to you John? _Beautiful? _".

" You are absolutely stunning Meg".

" You bastard!".

" Ouch! Damn it Meg, why would you throw your _shoe _at me?".

" Because you don't respect me! You only see me as some petty woman that should be kept hidden in your house. You are ashamed of me! Ashamed _you , _mister high-and-mighty, mister _human _would dally with a Lamia witch!".

" No Meg, that is not it at al-".

" Bloody hell it isn't! You never want me to come outside, you haven't told your family about me as far as I know and you keep on berating me like you know everything so much better!".

" Meg, please-".

" I know a great deal more than you John and I will not be treated like an ordinary, weak-willed farmer's wife!".

" You aren't! I risk _everything _for you!".

" Everything? Everything? What is it that you risk John? Losing the profession that makes everyone fear, despise and avoid you? Losing something you don't have- respect? Losing having to bend to _their _will every time? Being very damn-near an outlaw? ".

" Don't talk to me like that, _woman!". _

" Don't order me around! I am not your little slave John!".

" And I am not something you can just play with and throw away when you have had enough".

" Oh _God. _That is where this is about? What is it John? Afraid that I might find a more handsome, _easier _man in the village and run off with him?".

" Oh don't look so shocked _love _, I too can say His name without going up in flames, you know. Although, really, why you worship something that is so utterly uncooperative and allows creatures like _me _to _play _with creatures like _you _is beyond me".

" I. Don't. Worship. _Anyone_. You know that".

" Oh I know. Doesn't it make you afraid John? Being with me, a creature of the dark? Are you afraid you will burn in Hell for it, that He will not forgive you? Are you ashamed?".

" Shouldn't I ask _you _that question? Isn't a human just food to you? Something to _satisfy _your appetite?".

" I am starting to think that is all you are good for you, you stubborn, impossible man!".

"Stubborn? Impossible? That is you! I have been reasonable all this time and you simply _have _to be unreasonable and illogical, thinking it is perfectly ordinary for you to want to go into town!".

" And why wouldn't it be?".

" Because you're not human and the villagers will surely notice something , you foolish woman!".

" _Foolish? _I am many things John but I am NOT foolish John. Nor am I someone who needs to obey your every order, so leave me ALONE!".

" Meg.., just-".

" Don't touch me!".

" Fine! Then go! Leave, but don't come running back to me when you get into trouble!".

" Please, like _I _need _you_".

" Oh dear God, what am I going to do about that woman? Please make her see reason" he mumbled when the door had slammed and almost broken by the force behind it.

She had actually made him pray again, someone he hadn't planned on ever doing again. It hadn't exactly ever worked for him, so why would he?

But then again, who but God could deal with a woman like that?

* * *

" Meg, let me do the shopping" he tried to reason with her, a last desperate attempt.

The cold look she gave him wasn't encouraging, but he continued nonetheless.

" You're drawing too much attention to yourself! If it wasn't for me being a spook and you living at my house, they'd have already accused you of being a witch. You'll end up in the dungeons at Caster Castle if you're not careful" he warned, knowing his heartfelt warnings were falling on deaf ears, but still trying. He simply had to at least attempt to minimize the damage.

She finally turned to face him and – like expected- rolled her eyes. The woman was too stubborn for her own good.

" I can take care of myself John". She smiled grimly. " As you well know. Would you want me to be confined to this house and garden just because some shrews in the village insist on making trouble? No, I must fight my own battles!".

He bit back a curse, irritated with her stubbornness and unwillingness to _listen _to him. She didn't seem to understand how much trouble she could cause, how dangerous this all was. She simply didn't seem to care and it was driving him crazy.

It made him want to scream and shout, to make her see reason, to – if it was necessary- tie her up just so she wouldn't run off to do something foolish.

But he couldn't do any of these things. She could leave if he did any of that , if he pushed her too far and she was quickly becoming his oxygen ; how would he be able to live without her feisty spirit that made everything just that bit more interesting?

* * *

" An incomer. An incomer? How dares she?!".

" Just because I am more beautiful than her, just because I can do more than she can even dream of. Spiteful, little women!".

" I will show them all right".

Her muttering eventually attracted his attention and he walked into the room she had chosen for herself, the one she spend most of her time in when she wasn't sleeping.

The small fire sizzled, there was a greenish fog permeating the room and making it near impossible to see anything and the air was strange and unfamiliar when he walked in. It did do nothing to make the growing feeling of dread lessen.

He walked over to her , embraced her and kissed her shoulder, hoping against hope he was wrong and she wouldn't be doing what he feared she was doing.

" Meg, where on earth are you muttering about?".

She sniffed. " Those foolish village women, of course. They keep insulting me".

" They just envy you".

" I know. But that doesn't give them the right! I am so sick of these insults, by these petty _human _women".

" I get that Meg, I really do. I just hope you won't… do something about it".

" Oh but I will". She giggled. " I certainly will. They got it coming, now"

" Meg..".

" Oh don't give me that look John! They certainly harmed me, or tried to anyway".

" Yes, but they don't have power like you do. And you know I don't want you to use magic".

" Magic ought to be used in cases like this, just to teach them".

" They will be taught, but I doubt it will be what you want them to learn Meg".

" We will see. Now will you go? You're distracting me".

" Meg, please don-".

" I won't John. Not really. Just trust me, all right?".

He sighed. " All right. I know you will do it anyway. Just promise me-".

"to not really hurt them, I know. I won't".

He kissed her shoulder again. " All right".

He wasn't happy, but he had learned not to comment too much by now. Meg wouldn't listen anyway. So he walked away, leaving her muttering and mumbling to herself.

* * *

Jenny Johnson. The snobby, arrogant woman that had claimed Meg's flawless skin was too pale to be called beautiful and made her look like a ghost rather than a desirable woman. She suffered nasty boils all over her body, after which her 'ideal skin' somehow turned even paler than Meg's, and a lot less desirable.

Deanne Delano. The extremely house-proud – some would even call it obsessed- woman that had told Meg in a condescending voice she probably couldn't clean that 'awful' house since she didn't seem to have the same abilities as Deanne did. Softly telling some other women the 'incomer' likely had lice and other vermin was just rubbing salt in the wound.

A few days later the first plague came; Deanne didn't stop screaming from the moment the first lice and cockroaches were discovered.

Meg walked around smiling and looked especially smug when she discovered Deanne's husband didn't want to sleep in the bed anymore because Deanne was practically overflowing with lice.

He screamed, he cursed, he threatened, he pleaded and did everything he could think of, but she wouldn't budge; she kept using witchcraft as a means to an end, the end being teaching anyone who threatened or even insulted her a lesson that they wouldn't quickly forget.

* * *

" You will not go into the village anymore!".

" I will do as I please John. You cannot keep me locked up here, I won't allow it!".

" You leave me no choice! Don't you understand that?".

" That is ludicrous, you do have a choice! Aren't you always _preaching_ about how we all have a free will?".

" That is completely different and you _know _it!".

" How is it any different? You are _choosing _to be such a tyrant!".

"No, I am choosing to attempt to protect you, although God knows why, because you _obviously_ don't want protection!".

" I don't _need _protection John. I need your goddamn support and understanding, for once!".

" I _have_ been supportive and understanding! I haven't done anything while I would have thrown any other lamia witch in that pit!".

" That isn't supportive and understanding, that's selfish! The only reason you didn't do that, is because you wanted a body to warm your bed!".

" How dare you?! All this time, I have only been attempting to protect you and keep you happy, but you ruin it every single time! Do you even realize how serious this is?".

" I realize all you can think about is how this could hurt _you. _Grow up John, the world isn't black and white and neither is it about you!".

" I know that Meg, believe me I know! So don't pretend different and blame this all on me. I have been _trying _, but you're just impossible!".

" Then what do you want me to do? Spend the remainder of my life in this house, like some sort of prisoner?".

" No! I just want you to stop the insults, the provocations, the hostile behavior and –above all- harming innocent, defenseless women!".

" Defenseless? Inno- Do you even _know _what they did? Those women-".

" Insulted and belittled you. Yes, I _know _that Meg. But you can't keep cursing them every time they do that!. The parish constable already contacted me and this is bound to all end _very _badly. _You _–".

" Oh so this is all my fault? Those women can insult me, belittle me and treat me as though I am vermin, but I can't give them what they deserve? ".

"No! I-".

" Don't say anything anymore John, I know more than enough" she hissed, looking outraged. For a moment, he actually wondered if she would drink his blood and kill him, but she didn't. She simply walked away.

" What if they arrested you Meg? You will surely hang. They won't listen to _my _pleads".

She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled thinly. " Well, then at least you won't have to do it yourself, will you?".

He was speechless, shocked, hurt. Unable to believe she would think such a thing. He stepped forward, forcing his vocal cords to work and.. the door slammed. She was gone.

* * *

She didn't seem surprised when he told her they would have to leave. She didn't ask questions, didn't even seem interested or curious. She only nodded, once, and left to pack.

He wondered if she had scryed or used a different method, an even worse one to find out long before he did. But he didn't want to ask.

She didn't have to answer and what could would it do? It would only be cause for more arguments, for more bitterness and distrust. He was better off not knowing.

* * *

He had anticipated moving to Anglezarke Moore would be a bad development, that it would be hard to live in such a place, that she wouldn't be satisfied with living in such a dreary and dark place. But they, to his' surprise, were happy. Anglezarke Moore couldn't hold a candle to Chipenden, but it was a welcome change nonetheless. It allowed them a breathing reprieve and a chance to reconcile. To start over.

* * *

Their reconcile, their reprieve, only lasted for a short time. It officially ended when he found her, pacing, in the kitchen, clutching a letter to her chest, to her heart. He didn't think he had ever seen her this nervous before.

" What ails you woman?".

She didn't say anything at first, just resumed pacing and gnawed her bottom lip nervously- something she never did either- before she relented when she saw the determined and demanding look in his eyes.

" It is my sister, Marcia".

She needed a moment to gather her composure and he was shocked to see her eyes were shimmering like there were unshed tears in them. He hadn't seen her cry since that day he had almost thrown her into a pit and they hadn't ever spoken about it.

" Unless we help , she'll be killed for sure. Can she come here to us?".

" Where is she now?".

" Far to the north beyond the boundaries of the County. She's being hidden and protected, but it can't go on for much longer or those who guard her will be in danger themselves. There's a quisitor in the area and he's already growing suspicious. A thorough search is being carried out".

He was all set to scream no!, but the desperate, pleading look in her eyes stopped him. Those beautiful eyes trapped him once again, cornered him, and he felt his resolve crumble slowly.

" Please say she can come here" she begged. " Please do. She's my only relative in the whole world".

He caved. He couldn't do anything else when she was looking so vulnerable and yet somehow hopeful. And he was too much in love to deny her anything she wanted, too much in love to realize how much he was compromising his values and beliefs.

Before Meg, he wouldn't have even thought about housing a Lamia witch and now he would be housing two of them…

* * *

Disbelief. That was the first thing he felt. He simply couldn't believe such a hideous, frightening creature that didn't look like a human at all could be related to such a beautiful, graceful woman as Meg.

Then came shock, then anger at her deceit and finally, a little fear. A feral lamia would no doubt be able – and very willing- to kill him and drain him of his blood.

He unconsciously gripped my staff tighter, preparing to fight despite the fact that Meg would no doubt hate him forever if he hurt her sister in any way. It was just to feel safe. Although he doubted he would ever feel safe again as long as this creature was nearby.

* * *

He didn't want to lose her, He _couldn't _lose her. He was too much in love to lose her, to survive losing her. And if that meant housing a feral Lamia, then he would have to do that, as long as it meant he would have _her _. It was worth it.

Or that was what he told himself whenever he heard the birds gathering, whenever he heard their cries of terror, whenever he heard rats squealing in excitement as they climbed up the drainpipes, when he heard the Lamia – he simply couldn't think of her as Meg's sister or he would surely go insane- scuttling about or when Meg cheerily remarked "She likes a juicy rat that sister of mine, but the chase is as good as the eating" like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He simply told himself it was worth it , because it was. He would have housed the Devil himself in order to keep Meg, he feared.

He didn't want to see, didn't want to think, didn't want to realize. When Marcia- now she looked so human, it was so much easier to see her as Meg's sister- came downstairs and sat beside them.

He didn't want to think about the fact the she was Meg's sister, that she resembled Meg a lot more now and certainly didn't want to wonder whether Meg would look like Marcia's feral form when she was in _her _feral form.

But he couldn't stop himself from doing that, just like he couldn't stop himself from breaking all his rules for Meg.

* * *

Terror. That was what he felt when Marcia suggested he and Meg would share him. And insulted, insulted that Marcia would talk like that about him; like he was something that could be owned.

The only thing that made him feel better after seeing the (blood?)lust look in Marcia's eyes was the fury in Meg's eyes and her retort.

For some reason, he didn't mind being owned by Meg. As long as he was the only one she wanted to own.

* * *

Perhaps he wasn't as hopeless, as pathetic, as he had thought. Because if Marcia killed an innocent child, Meg could beg and plead all she wanted, but he wouldn't cave. He would throw her sister in a pit, even if that would very likely drive away Meg forever.

He would sell his soul for Meg, he would break his personal rules, he would allow a lamia witch to stay with them, he would do anything _but _allow innocents to get hurt because of his foible, of his weakness.

* * *

He didn't know what to think about it. He didn't know whether he had made the right choice. There was so much he didn't know. Most of all, he didn't know just _how _far he would go for Meg, what he would do to keep her. He had already refrained from putting Marcia in a pit while she certainly had deserved so. What more would he refrain for, for Meg?

* * *

It was happening again. She was doing it again, after all this time. Just when he had started to think there would be no more trouble. But of course there was. She wouldn't be Meg if there wasn't.

Mable Sterling. Elderly woman. She had been experiencing night-terrors. It could have been just ordinary night-terrors , but he suspected – like most of the villagers did as well- Meg was behind it because the woman didn't just have night-terrors; she sometimes would wake up with wounds that she had gotten in dreams or she would dream something that happened shortly after the dream had been dreamt. Those weren't normal.

Lily Red. A beautiful woman that , despite her beauty, could be very ugly. In the sense of being hard and cruel. She didn't dare to venture beyond her own front door anymore, _days _after she had remarked Meg should have stayed wherever she came from, far away from them.

He confronted her, of course, but she shrugged and waved it off. And he didn't pressure her, knowing it wouldn't do much good anyway.

He did get her to not make new victims though. Or that is what she promised , reluctantly, him. But would she hold such a promise, he wondered.

* * *

Someone was using dark magic on him . It was the only explanation for this piercing, hot pain in his heart that felt like his heart was burned, stabbed with hot needles and then just exploded.

It was the only explanation for the sudden deprivation of oxygen, for the dark spots blurring his vision and the way every time he inhaled, it burned his throat.

When the door closed and he collapsed, tears streaming down his face, he realized. It was worse than dark magic, far, far worse. It was love.

* * *

He was bitter. He had given her everything he had to offer, his house, safety, his heart.. He had done everything he could, had broken every rule for her and even housed her sister. And still, she betrayed him.

Despite everything he had done for her, everything he wanted to do for her and could do for her, she had betrayed him.

He should have seen it coming, should have listened to his own dark thoughts that told him such an exceptional woman wouldn't be interested in him, that voice that had driven him to do anything to keep her near. He should have send her away.

Back then, when he didn't necessarily need her to survive.

* * *

He still loved her. Despite the betrayal, despite everything she had made him do- directly or indirectly-, he still loved her. So he couldn't just send her away, especially not after she had just drowned, could he? He would take this opportunity to have her close once more, even if it was for a little while, and take care of her.

Even if she didn't love him, even if she never had, he would always love her. He would always be there for her.

* * *

It pained him. It pained him to see her so docile, so unlike the Meg he knew and loved. It pained him to see her so unlike herself, to live together with someone that was nearly a stranger now. It pained him to have to do this to her, to force her to be something she wasn't.

But what choice did he have? He couldn't risk her leaving and getting hurt. The one thing that would hurt him more than her leaving, was her dying. As long as she was alive, he would have a little hope. And hope is what people live on., what _he _lived on.

* * *

It was definitely the worst time of all. It was worse than battling dark creatures, it was worst than losing contact with his family, it was worse than the contempt and disgust he received from most people, it was possibly even worse than when he had caught her with another man.

But it was the only thing he could do to protect her, to ensure she wouldn't be hanged, so he locked her in a dark room off the cellar steps and whispered into her ear his goodbye;

"Farewell Meg. Dream of the garden at Chipenden where we were so happy. I'll see you in the autumn.


	5. Once in love, always

**I don't own the Wardstone Chronicles**

**John x Meg. **

**Enjoy!**

You tilt your head one way, contemplative. You narrow your eyes and frown. Your sister growls softly, trying to spur you on, but you ignore her. You won't kill this prey yet, not until you understand why those green eyes seem so familiar, why you actually hesitate, why it makes you think of gardens, of the number seven, of a deep voice whispering I love you..

You wonder why it makes you feel something that is different from all-too familiar sensations as hunger and thirst. Something so very different from the normal feelings associated with prey.

It is more like the affection you feel for your sister, the feeling of comfort and trust when you're near her. It is stinging, it is a little like when you want to feed a lot, when you long to feed. But you're not hungry right now, not really.

So what do you long for?

Your prey whimpers and stares at you with wide, frightened eyes. You can hear his heart beating, can smell the blood in his veins- no doubt warm and delicious- , but for once, you don't simply want to sink your teeth in him and take his blood.

You know this creature is just another prey to you, just like the bunnies, foxes and other small creatures you normally hunt, but you somehow keep from hunting him.

He reminds you of something, but you don't know what. He stirs a memory, but it won't become clear. He makes you feel, but you don't feel anything for _him. _

You growl. This creature confuses you and if there is one thing you hate, it is confusion.

He shuts his eyes and you can smell the strong scent of fear, of his fear, but ignore it when you lean towards him. Your sister growls softly, trying to force you to already kill the prey, but you make her shut up with a sharp hiss. You don't want to kill this prey, not until you remember. Not until you remember why he makes you think of a silver chain, of a pit, of gardens, of a house, of a soft voice…

He makes you think and feel so many things, so many conflicted things. Of safety and at the same time, of being locked up. Of comfort, and at the same time, of spending long and lonely nights on a cold floor. Of warm and strong arms around you, but also of a place where you only had your own arms around you. Of love, but also of betrayal.

It's almost too much.

You take another step towards the whimpering prey and lick your dry lips. You stand and stare at him until his heartbeat calms down somewhat and he opens his eyes slowly.

You take another step towards him, your eyes locking with him, and he swallows thickly but doesn't look away. You kneel down next to him and slowly, hesitantly, touches his arm. He flinches a little, but doesn't pull back.

You lick your lips again and he immediately freezes, his heartbeat accelerating again. You ignore the way his blood smells and the seductive thumping of his heart to look at those green eyes though. You simply look, with narrowed eyes and a frown , willing yourself to remember.

It's difficult, especially since the biggest part of you only wants to feed and forget, but you focus until you remember. Until those half-forgotten memories return.

You remember the young man that rescued you, the way his lips felt against yours, the way you first only planned to use him, but slowly grew to care for him, the way you felt when you no longer was drugged and realized how he had betrayed you….

Everything.

You inhale sharply and get up. You no longer want to be near this man, near this man that reminds you of someone that you hadn't really forgotten, despite your intentions to do so, to spare yourself the pain of remembering a man you once deeply cared for.

Your sister makes a low , humming sound and takes a step forward, eager to take the prey's life, but you stop her. You don't know why, but you don't want to kill this man.

You don't care for him, don't care whether he dies or not, but a small part of you still cares for another man with green eyes like that and that small part argues it would be too much like killing John. And you never wanted that, no matter how badly he has treated you.

Like you once told him ; he can't help it. He can't help that he was born a seventh son of seventh son, destined to become a spook.

He can't help what he is and he can't help it that you are something he should hate.

So as a final thanks to the man someone you once were loved, you let go this stranger with the familiar green eyes. It would be what John wanted and a part of you, always wanted to make him happy. A part of you truly loved the kind, intelligent, grumpy and handsome young man you met once.

You're just not sure how long that part will last.


	6. Seven times

**I don't own the Wardstone Chronicles. **

**Lamia x John ward. Drabble-like. Some character development. **

**Enjoy!**

First

It was worth the pain. It was worth feeling the pain that comes with giving birth again. It was worth the humiliation. It was worth the humiliation of being married to a simple human. It was worth the life. It was worth the life of a farmer's wife that was now hers.

She knew it was worth all the pain, humiliation and harsh life when she held her son in her arms and looked into his guileless, trusting eyes.

They would bring her to what she wanted; a seventh son.

One that could destroy _him._

Second

Four. That was with how many they were now. Three men, one woman. Three people that loved her. Three humans, one Lamia. Three that knew nothing, one that knew all.

The love in his eyes, the adoration in theirs, her slowly growing and more genuine smile… it wasn't enough.

She wouldn't be satisfied until they were with eight. She wouldn't be happy until he was destroyed.

That required a seventh son.

Third

She was surprised how human they all were. She hadn't actually believed it was possible they would be so human while she was so not human. She hadn't actually believed something so human could be her child, the child of a monster.

She was almost surprised to see no claws, no scales, no sign of anything inhuman.

She was even more surprised they all loved her.

Fourth

She laughed. Her hips ached, her breathing came in pants, her lips were dry, her body sore, but she laughed nonetheless.

The soreness and exhaustion that came with giving birth didn't really bother her , not when her youngest child was healthy, her other three were chatting excitedly and her husband was grinning like the fool he was.

She wondered when that grin had become cute in her mind.

Fifth

She didn't understand. She didn't understand how her husband still got excited, nervous and panicked all at the same time when this had happened four times already.

She understood the fluttering of her heart, the butterflies in her stomach and the happy tears in her own eyes even less.

Sixth

The time six had been something with a sour taste to it, a reminder of him, was long gone. Gone like those nights filled with nightmares, the slight revolt or at least indifference towards her husband and the pain that had been with her for millennia.

She had never thought it possible, but she loved the number six now. It made her think of laying in a comfortable bed with a sleeping baby in her arms and the people she loved most surrounding her.

It made her think of a happy ending. It made her think of the impossible; _her _happy ending.

Seventh

Her breathing stilled, her heart stopped beating before it accelerated, her throat was sore from suppressing the tears that threatened to fall now she finally had him in her arms, now she finally looked down at this perfect baby boy and realized she finally had what she had wanted in the first place.

A seventh son.

But even more so, something to fill the empty heart Zeus had left her with.


	7. Not a second time

**I don't own the Wardstone Chronicles. **

**This is some Lamia x John Ward. Enjoy!**

**The stormy grey eyes &amp; everything are a reference to Zeus, by the way. I imagine he would have those, seeing as how he was the god of the sky and everything in Greece. **

I know he has questions.

I can see them in his eyes, sometimes. I can see it in the way his mouth opens, then closes for the briefest of times when he considers it . I can see it in the way his voice changes when he wants to ask, the way it becomes unbearably soft and gentle, as if he is afraid he will frighten me. I can see it in the way he frowns, in the way he looks at me, in all those small ways any human would be able to see if he of she was willing to pay attention enough to notice.

What bothers me , is that I can also notice it in a way _no _human ever could. In the way his heart flutters , before accelerating. In the way his breathing gets a little harder. In the way his blood flows faster.

I can notice it in so many ways, as a human could've but also as my kind could have – if they had refrained from killing long enough to do so of course- and I always panic just a little.

I panic, because it reminds me of what I am, I panic because I am afraid I will lose control and I panic, because I am afraid _he _will somehow notice. That he will somehow notice that I can smell so much better than him, that I can hear small sounds no human will ever hear, that I can use magic that could destroy anyone.

I am afraid he will notice just how different I am from him and that he will leave. I am afraid that the affection in love in his eyes will change into revolt and anger. I am afraid of getting my heart broken again.

It's ironic really.

It's ironic that this life I didn't want is now something I can't bear to lose. It's ironic that the man that I only saw as a means to an end, now is the one that makes my heart flutter.

It's ironic that I have fallen in love with one of the creatures that hates my kind.

I didn't expect it to happen. I foresaw many things, but I would have never foreseen losing my heart another time. And especially not to a human.

But he isn't just a human, he is different somehow. Perhaps it's the way he says my name, like a prayer. Perhaps it is the adoration, near worship in his eyes.

Or perhaps it is the look in his eyes when the first was born.

He looked stunned, overwhelmed really. His eyes grew a little moist and he smiled at me. He smiled at me with such honestly and love that I couldn't help smiling back. I actually felt happy , despite the exhaustion and the soreness and the way my hips felt. I think it is , because he didn't run.

I had been afraid he would till that moment, not able to really shake off the fear that he would leave , that history would repeat itself. I knew he wouldn't, but it was all I could think about for some time.

About those stormy grey eyes, that handsome face, the way I had completely given myself to _him. _About how right it had felt to be with him, to ignore that little voice that warned me. About how wrong it felt when I realized what I had done, when I realized the danger I and the precious children in my womb were in. And the devastation, the anger, the sorrow when _she _appeared and took them from me.

I cried then. I screamed, yelled, cried, but I couldn't do anything. I was powerless against her, despite all my power, I was still powerless.

And he wouldn't do anything.

I sometimes still dream about that moment, about realizing he wouldn't help me, wouldn't even help his own children. I still dream about that painful moment. It has haunted me for millennia.

But the weirdest thing is, it isn't like before.

I still feel it every day, I still am reminded of him and it by little things, but my dreams are slowly changing. Instead of seeing stormy grey eyes, I now see my husband's eyes . Instead of their lifeless bodies, I see my children's life reflected in the way they run around or simply laugh. Instead of hearing her sharp , mocking voice, I hear their small voices and calls of Mom.

I no longer have to fear sleeping, I no longer have to carry around all that weight. I no longer have those nightmares, those painful reminders of what once happened. I finally no longer am bothered by them.

I finally feel like I can really live again.

I love _him_ all the more for that.

And I don't want to lose that love, don't want to feel the agony all over again, so I never tell him. I ignore the questions in his eyes, distract him when he actually asks one and do everything I can to avoid raising more questions.

It isn't that I don't _want_ to tell him, it's just that I can't . Because all his love, all the kindness , all the adoration he shows and gives me will turn into revolt and hate and I know now I won't be able to survive that. My heart won't be able to survive.

Not a second time anyway.


	8. Can't stop

**I don't own the Wardstone Chronicles. **

**The spook x Meg. Supposed to happen somewhere during the sixth book. Very fluffy &amp; a little angsty**

**Enjoy!**

Memories. And Dreams. The two things you curse most, because they show you _her. _Because they show you the happy times and leave you aching for her, for that blonde – now silver- hair, for those expressive eyes, for that siren's voice.

They ensure you see her everywhere; hay is her hair when she was younger, the moon rays is her hair when she was older, the milk you have for breakfast her skin, the green you see the color of her scales , the scales you secretly even loved because they were part of her..

Everything reminds you of her and everything is her.

When the sun is shining, your memories torture you, showing you her everywhere. When the moon is shining, your dreams torture you, featuring her in every and each one. Whether you are awake or dreaming, you can only think about her.

The fact you could visit her makes it that much worse.

You could visit her; you have her address, you know where she is and how to get there. You could knock on the door and be let in. You could give in to that overwhelming desire to see her again, to see those beautiful eyes and hear that siren's voice that made you her prisoner the first time you two met.

But that would hurt even more than the separation you now have to endure.

Because you know it wouldn't be the woman you love that would open the door; it would be a wild, terrifying creature that might not even remember you. It would be exactly what you had always feared would become of her, it would be something inhuman. It wouldn't be your Meg.

You try to tell yourself that, to remind yourself of what happens when her kind spends time away from humans, but it's so very difficult when all you want to do is jump of the ship and somehow go to her. It's so difficult when she has been all you wanted all these years, all you needed to be happy. It's so very difficult when you know it's possible to visit her.

It's so difficult to not hope.

If you could just let go of that hope, if you could just stop hoping something of the woman you love remains in the Lamia she now likely is, then maybe you wouldn't long for her like this.

Then maybe you wouldn't wonder whether she still wears that same dress, whether her eyes still sparkle, whether her voice still has that pleasant quality to is, whether she is happy, whether she is safe, whether she still thinks of you sometimes..

Then maybe you could have a minute without her in your thoughts.

You think of her all the time. You think of everything you liked about her ; her fiery temper, her smile, the way her eyes sometimes sparkled, the way her golden hair shone, the way her voice sounded whenever she whispered I love you, the way she laughed , the way she made you feel…

There is too much about her you like, too much to think about, too much that won't go away. You simply can't stop thinking of her. You simply can't stop wanting her, not even after everything that has happened after her, not even with the knowledge of what she has done and what she is.

You can't stop loving her , not even now she isn't the woman you love anymore.


	9. Five heartbeats

**I don't own the Wardstone Chronicles**

**More Lamia x John Ward. I might add/change this later. Enjoy!**

She sometimes worried him. She sometimes worried him by the way her eyes would glaze over, as if she wasn't really there but somewhere else- at least, in her mind. She sometimes worried him by the way she looked at him, with that unreadable expression. She sometimes worried him by smiling a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

She worried him now.

She worried him now , leaning against the window with her eyes closed and looking so weary and lost at the same time. She looked lonely, sad, and pained all at the same time; her posture tense , one of her arms wrapped around her stomach as if she was either hurt or attempting to protect herself , those beautiful eyes closed but no doubt haunted and pained.

He didn't know why, how or what, and it pained him all the more. He hated not knowing what made her so sad and closed off.

He wanted to embrace her, to offer comfort, to make the pain go away, but he didn't know how.

She wouldn't even tell him what was bothering her.

It had been like that from the beginning, from that first moment he had seen her, there had been sadness and pain in the back of her eyes. Even when she smiled , it was hidden somewhere among the happiness in her eyes.

No matter what he did or said, some of that sadness remained. She hid it well, but not well enough for him not to notice sometimes. To notice and desperately want to drive it away, without knowing how.

It drove him crazy.

Her silence drove him crazy even more. He had asked her, had gently attempted to make her tell him what was wrong, but she was never willing to answer his questions. She never gave more than vague answers.

Sometimes she simply gave him a small, sad smile. Sometimes she only sighed. Sometimes she leaned into him, but didn't say anything.

It broke his heart to see her like that.

She looked vulnerable, small and yet unapproachable then. Like she had somehow been broken, but didn't want to be made whole again. Almost like she believed she deserved to be broken, like she didn't deserve the comfort and support he wanted to offer every time he saw the sadness in her eyes.

He hated the very idea she thought she didn't deserve anything.

He knew she deserved everything he had to offer and so much more. He thought she deserved to be happy, to be comforted, to be supported, to be loved.. He thought she deserved anything any man had to offer and even more.

He loved her, so very much. He just wished he knew how to show her.

He looked at her, hidden in the windowsill as if she didn't want to face the world , and sighed. He really thought it was horrible that such a strong, beautiful, intelligent woman had something so haunted and sad about her.

_Who has done this to you? Who has put that sad, haunted look in your eyes? Who is you're thinking about when you stare off into the distance? _

He really wanted to ask her, but he was almost afraid of the answer. Afraid of whatever dark secret she must carry inside. Afraid of losing her to the memory of someone she obviously had once loved very much.

Because he knew for certain only someone she would have loved with all her heart could have put such a haunted, pained look in those beautiful expressive eyes.

And he hated that unknown man for it.

No one had the right to hurt her so much that she had nightmares from which she woke covered in sweat and with wide, terrified eyes, no one had the right the hurt her so much that she looked conflicted and uncertain every time he whispered I love you in her eyes, no one had the right to hurt her so much that her smile never quite reached her eyes.

No one deserved that.

Especially not the woman he loved more than he had thought possible, the woman he wanted to be with the rest of his life and the woman that continued to make his life just so much better.

She stifled a sob and he simply couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't just stand there, hidden, and watch her suffer. He _needed _to comfort her, to reach out to her, to let her know he was there for her.

Without another thought, he gathered her in his arms and pulled her against him. She stiffened at first, gasped even softly, but relaxed into his embrace and lay her head on his chest, letting his heartbeat calm her.

One heartbeat. She sighed.

Two heartbeats. He felt her relax completely.

Three heartbeats. She embraced him back.

Four heartbeats. She raised her head just enough to look into his eyes.

Five heartbeats. Her smile finally reached her eyes.


	10. Forced to Forget

**I don't own the Wardstone Chronicles. Joseph Delaney does.**

**This is Meg x John. **

**These are drabblish. They are all linked together, although they might be a little difficult to understand sometimes. Some lines are directly from the books, others are my interpretation of the little information given. **

**Enjoy!**

You sometimes hate yourself.

Whenever she is up all night trying to remember and you give her the tea you know will make her forget. Whenever she looks at something and the briefest flicker of recognition lingers on her beautiful face, before it disappears again. Whenever those stunning eyes that make you fall in love, cloud over with tears threatening to fall.

That's when bitter, hot hatred focused on yourself appears. That's when you disgusted by yourself.

Nothing makes you hate yourself more, than seeing her so lost and confused. Nothing hurts more than her tears. Nothing makes it more painful, more agonizing to keep the truth from her.

Nothing makes you feel more like you're betraying her by keeping the truth from her.

The only thing that keeps you from telling her the truth, is the very real possibility that she will leave.

You lie to everyone who might ask, you lie to yourself and say you keep her this way to protect everyone. To assure everyone is safe from her. To keep her safe from herself.

But you really keep her this way, because you're scared that she will leave. That she will wake up, realize how much she could get and that you're not the person she wants and that she will stand up and leave.

Or that she will see you as her enemy, that she will accuse you of betrayal and will look at you with hatred clouding those eyes instead of tears.

Nothing frightens you more than the idea that she could hate you.

She probably has a right to hate you too; you have kept her weak and sedated, you took not only her memories but her strength, her feistiness.

You took such a big part of what she was, that you sometimes wonder is there anything left of herself.

You hardly recognize her as she is now; peaceful, slumbering, calm and vulnerable. So unlike the strong, feisty and hardened woman you fell in love with.

She no longer screams, she no longer fights, she no longer looks at you with all that fire in her eyes. She is so much less herself and it tortures you every time you look at her.

Every time you look at her and realizes it is like looking at a different person in the same body.

If you didn't know better, you would think she was possessed. She talks differently; she behaves differently; sometimes, she even walks differently. She is so different now, that it is difficult to see her as herself.

It hurts more than anything else. More than the confusion, more than the secrets, more than the unhappiness and tears in her eyes, the realization you robbed her from herself.

You wish you could give her , herself back.

* * *

I remember everything.

I remember the way she was; feisty, strong-willed, hot-tempered, always ready to fight and never ready to give up.

I loved her like that.

I remember – and see- the way she is now; calm, slumbering, hardly alive, more like an old lady than the woman I remember.

I hardly recognize her like that.

I remember everything.

I remember her voice, the first time I had the privilege of hearing it. I remember the look in her eyes, vulnerable and pleading. I remember her soft lips on mine. I remember that first, fateful night, every single detail of it. I remember waking up and seeing , then realizing what she was. I remember the agony and the feeling of betrayal. I remember the way sunlight makes her hair look golden. I remember long walks in the garden.

But I also remember fighting, arguing, fear about losing her – first to death , then to another man- , spells, angry villagers , I remember the bad things.

I remember both bad and good, because I remember everything.

And every single time I look at her, every single time she opens her mouth, every single time a fight I had anticipated doesn't happen, every time she looks like a stranger, I remember she doesn't.

She remembers nothing and I everything.

I remember every single time I fell in love with her again and every single time I tried to show her, while she remembers nothing. I remember her lips, her eyes, every single, beautiful thing about her and she only remembers what she sees when I am near her. I remember my betrayal, but she doesn't even know. I still love her, still love that stranger that looks like my Meg, but she doesn't remember ever loving me.

I would give my soul to get her back and be able to keep her, because I remember I love her more than it.

* * *

I can hardly remember anything.

I try and try until my head hurts from the effort, but something keeps my memories obscured. Something keeps me from remembering why I am locked up in the cellar for long periods, what exactly happened between me and the green-eyed man that only ever visits me.

Sometimes I remember vague things, blurring images; unknown people, a metal taste in my mouth, a vaguely human-like creature covered in green and yellow scales, a tower and a bed of straw, fear, the green-eyed man , a big house with the nicest garden..

Images I hardly recognized, images I can't link to memories, images I asked John about. Images that rise so many questions.

He is never willing to answer any of my questions and if he is- after much pleading- then he is very vague. So vague I am left with more questions than before, questions he says he isn't able to answer.

The only things he was willing to tell me , were my name, that he loved me very much and that I couldn't leave the house because that was dangerous.

It isn't nearly enough.

I always try to get answers from him, from my John, but he never really answers any of them. He is overly vague or tries to distract me.

He obviously doesn't want me to ask any questions, but how can't I? How can't I when I remember so little and want to remember so much? How can't I when there are so many things left unanswered?

There are simply too many to ask.

Who am I? Why am I with him? Why do I keep having these strange dreams about blood and screaming? Why can't I leave the house? What has happened to me?

And the most important question of all; why can't I remember?

John says I have been experiencing amnesia after an accident and that my memory might come back, but I don't really believe it. Something in the way he says it, makes me suspect he is lying to me. There is something guilty and sad in his eyes whenever I ask him about my memories, something haunted.

It tells me that it isn't amnesia that has stolen my memories.

It isn't that I don't trust him or think he wants to harm me , but I just know he is keeping something from me. I just know he has the answers I so desperately seeks.

I wonder if he knows that that is the only reason I'm staying.

I just want to know who I am again. Why won't he tell me? Why won't he tell me, while he claims to love me more than life itself?

He says he loves me, but he doesn't allow me to come with him when he leaves. He says he loves me , but won't tell me the story behind it. He says he loves me, but he won't let me go.

Isn't it true that if you love something, you should let it go?

I would come back to him, if only because he might have the answers. I would come back to him, to this lonely and complicated man that has beautiful green eyes filled with emotion and sometimes seems so much older than he must be. I would come back to the man I might have loved once, when I still knew who I was.

I would come back, so he could remember me why I used to love him.

* * *

" Why don't I remember?".

" You have amnesia, it happened in a terrible accident. You know this, my Meg ".

" Yes, I know, but I keep forgetting. I keep forgetting things you told me and I keep forgetting memories I had just found again. Why is that?".

" Amnesia works that way".

" But can't you do something about it?".

" You know what the doctor said".

" I don't remember a doctor".

" That is-".

" The amnesia. I know. But I keep having flashes , I keep having these strange half-memories. Why won't you tell me where they are about? It might give me my memory back".

" I didn't know you back then. I know as little about these memories as you do".

" But shouldn't I search for people who know then?".

" You told me your family is gone".

" I would remember that".

" How would you remember if you don't remember them?".

"_I hate not remembering_".

"…."

" I know. Please don't cry? You still have some memories, right? Shouldn't those happy memories be enough?".

" But I want to know everything! I want to know my family , my childhood, my hopes and dreams.. I want to know who I am!".

" You don't have to remember in order to know who you are".

" How can you know who you are if you don't even remember the life you have lived?".

" You look at the way you feel and think about what is around you ".

" I am always trapped here, how can I know about my thoughts and feelings when there is nothing to think and feel about? ".

" You aren't trapped, you're protected".

" John.. why won't you let me leave?".

" It's too dangerous".

" Why?".

" Because there are people out there that would hurt you".

" You could come with me, to protect me".

" I wouldn't be able to protect you forever, you would be hurt one day and that is one memory I do not wish to have".

" Being harmed would be better than being trapped forever".

" Meg-".

" I just want to remember John, why can't you understand that?".

" I can. Listen, we will talk about this later all right?".

" I think you always say that, but we never do".

" Do you remember me saying that?".

" …"

"No.. Why don't I?".

" Amnesia. Now, drink your tea before it gets cold. I have a job, but I will be back later".

" John-".

" We will talk then, Meg. I am sorry, but I really have to go".

" Fine" .

" Meg.. You know I would rather stay here, but I really have to go. You understand that, don't you?".

" I know that".

" Good. Then drink your tea. It's good for your-".

" Bones. I know. Be careful".

" I will. We will talk later".

* * *

" Meg? What are you doing still up?".

" Remembering. Do you know anyone with the name Marcia?".

"…."

" No. Why?".

" I knew someone with that name once. I know it! I just can't remember who it was. I only know it was something I loved. Someone close to me. How can I possibly forget who it was".

" Amnesia. And you don't even know if you really knew that person. I am sorry to say it Meg, but-".

" She isn't false, like the time I thought I remembered flying! She is real, John, real!".

"I believe you, really I do! I just don't want you to get your hopes up and then get disappointed when it turns out to be a false memory".

" It isn't. Do you really not know her?".

" No, I am sorry. You know I almost never leave the house, aside from when I have to work. And I don't have many friends or even social contacts".

" I know. Why is that again? I keep forgetting".

" My work.. it frightens people. They don't want to come near me".

" Then they are gullible, for you're a very sweet man".

" Thank you, my love. Will you go to bed now?".

" …."

"What if I don't remember tomorrow?".

" I will help you remember".

" Really? But maybe , if I stay up for just a little longer, I will remember more than just a name that I know once meant a lot to me. Maybe I will remember the person it belongs to".

" Meg, you will only exhaust yourself. Why don't you try again tomorrow? You will be able to think better in the morning".

" I can't. I have to remember _now _!".

" Meg-".

" Really John, I appreciate the effort, but I need to remember and I am so very close, so very close to remembering. And when I remember Marcia, maybe I will also remember myself".

"…"

" I hope so. But really Meg, don't worry so much about not remembering. There are worse things, you know".

" What could possibly be worse than not knowing yourself?". "

Watching innocents die. Losing your free will. Watching your own family die".

" …."

" Losing the one you love. I would rather not remember than losing someone I love, Meg".

" But if you don't remember, you wouldn't know that you loved them either".

" But don't you think you would fall in love again?".

" If you really did love them. And I suppose you wouldn't mind forgetting them if you didn't really love them in the first place".

" See? There are things worse than missing memories. I wouldn't mind forgetting some of what I have seen and done".

" Those are the bad things. What about the goods things? Your siblings, your father, your mother? What if you never remembered them? Would you still think not knowing, not remembering isn't that bad? ".

" Of course not. I am only saying there are worse things".

" Well, I don't know about that. I really want to remember , John, more than anything".

" .. I know".

" _But you can't _".

" What are you doing?".

"Making tea. Do you want some?".

" Sure".

"I will make tea while you attempt to remember and until you don't or fall asleep, I will sit with you. Okay?".

" Okay. Thank you John".

" You're welcome. There, a cup of delicious tea. It's good for your bones".

" Hmmm. It's delicious, thank you John".

" …."

" So you want to remember a name?".

" I remember the name. I just don't remember who it was".

" Marcia".

" Yes".

" Perhaps it was a good friend?".

" I don't think so. I think she was family, the affection.. the feeling .. it feels like something more than friendship ".

" Your mother?".

" N- ".

"o".

" Perhaps a cousin?".

" I don't –".

" Think so".

" …"

" Your.. sister?".

" Hm? Wha-?".

" You're sleeping Meg".

" Mm".

" I will carry you to bed my love".

" Mh".

" _I am sorry for making you forget_".


	11. Avenge

**I don't own the Wardstone Chronicles. **

I hate them. I hate them all, all that have partaken in killing her. I hate them with an all-consuming hatred that will last long after I die even.

Since my beautiful baby boy, that unexpected gift, I have not loved anyone. I have been an empty shell of a woman, filled to the brim with one thing only; the longing for revenge.

And then she came, arrogant like all young people but for once with a good reason. She came, the most stubborn person I've ever met. She came, the most courageous. And she changed me.

In all the years that we were together, she was the one that made me smile, that made it easier to be patient. To wait until the opportunity arose. Sitting around fires, killing people, teaching her.. it became all a part of my life I never wanted to be without.

I am still kneeling next to her lifeless body, crying all the tears that my body has to offer and even crying when there are no tears anymore, just pain and loss and anger. I shudder, shake, tremble as I kneel next to her body. I probably sound like a dying animal, but why would I care? Nothing matters like she did; not my reputation, dignity, not even my revenge.

She should have run, she would have lived if she had. But she couldn't; it's just not in her nature. If only she could've. If only she could have saved herself, because I was powerless to do so this time.

Tears still making their way down my face, I stand up and start collecting wood. I am still trembling and my eyes are always on her body, my mind replaying precious memories- all with her in them.

When I have made the fire, I walk over to her body, still crying. Still being weak.

For the first time since I have decided to become an assasin, I hesitate. I know that she is already dead. I know that she won't feel it. And I certainly wasn't queasy about anything like this.

But I really don't want to cut her heart out.

_You promised Grimalkin. The least you can do for her, is respect her wishes. She doesn't want to come back, you can't take that from her. You can't force her. _

Trying to put the pain, almost madness of loss away, I quickly cut it out and lay it next to the fire. I try not to look at it too much, not to think , but I cannot not feel. I would almost cut out my own, so much does it hurt.

Taking a log from the fire, I stumble back to her body. Taking one last minute to memorize her - though I probably will never forget the way she looks right now- I kiss her cheek before allowing the fire to take her.

I watch as she catches fire, as her clothes burn with her body, her wounds slowly disappearing in a sea of fire. Taking her from me, forever.

It hurts almost as much as taking her heart.

After putting the fire out, I stumble to my fire and sit down, immediately taking the heart and starting to eat. It is roasted, so it's sort of eatable but I certainly don't like it. I have never hated eating as much as I do right now.

I hate every bite I take; every bite I take from the last physical proof that she existed. Pushing back my nausea and forcing myself to take a bite, another, another, another, another, another and another until I pop the last bit in my mouth and swallow.

My stomach rolls and protests, agreeing with the rest of my body ; this is sickening. This is the last straw. This is what they will all pay for.

This murder might actually be even more meaningless than my boy's.

I finally manage to stop crying because of the idea that I _will _avenge her; I _will _hunt them down; I _will _cut off their thumbs; I _will _kill anyone who knew about this murder.

So I speak with conviction the absolute truth, I promise something I know that I will keep. "So rest in peace , Thorne, for what I say I will do. It will all come to pass. I am Grimalkin".

And I will avenge my daughter like I shall avenge my son.

**So I know that Thorne wasn't Grimalkin's daughter; I just think that was what she -perhaps subconsciously- thought of Thorne. She certainly loved Thorne, whether it be as a daughter or a sister or a friend.**


End file.
